XVII. Ivory Tower
A piercing ring assaulted Draco's ears, accompanied by a relentless pounding in his eardrums. Amid the chaos, he barely discerned a cacophony of screams, muffled pleas, and desperate cries for help. Thick smoke completely veiled his sight, masking the source of the echoing cries around him. Despite the turmoil, he could hear the persistent crackle of fireworks.
Struggling to his feet, Draco found his limbs rigid, stiffened from the impact of his fall. Everything had happened in a disorienting whirl. His last clear memory was of a crimson haze and a voice screaming his name, just before an overpowering force hurled him to the ground. That was when the catastrophic explosion erupted.
An explosion.
Through half-closed, tearing eyes, amid blazing flames and suffocating smoke, he saw debris hurtling in every direction, shattering the banquet hall's windows with resounding crashes. Instinctively, he shielded his face with an arm to protect himself from the flying shards.
Disoriented, Draco's mind was in a whirlwind, frantically grappling for a logical explanation. Could the fireworks be responsible for this? An accident, perhaps? He dismissed the idea almost instantly. The magnitude of the explosion was too great. This was more than mere fireworks.
Why had breathing become so difficult? Suffocating smog engulfed his throat, triggering violent coughs. Panic surged through him upon realizing the smoke was dangerously dense, potentially lethal. He needed to escape before the smoke asphyxiated him.
Draco felt a brush against his side and turned, covering his nose and mouth with his hand. Through sore eyes, he discerned a swath of deep red fabric. It took him a moment to realize that it was a dress, with the person in it stirring faintly. Recognition dawned – Ginny Weasley was beside him, clutching her neck and gasping for air. In the tumult, Draco hadn't recognized the red blur as Ginny charging towards him, screaming for him to move. Her swift reaction in dragging them to the ground shielded them from the worst of the flying debris. Shaking, Draco rose to his feet, his bewilderment lessening slightly, and steadied Ginny by her arm and waist, helping her up.
"We need to get out of here," he croaked. "Are you able to walk?"
Ginny nodded, leaning heavily on him and still coughing violently. They stumbled blindly away from the flames, increasing the distance between themselves and the building. As they moved further away, the smoke thinned, and Draco's vision gradually cleared.
Pandemonium reigned all around him. Figures dashed frantically, desperate to escape; others sprawled on the ground, scrambling for shelter. Some lay still, lifeless. Draco averted his gaze, reluctant to confront the full implications. Driven by a sense of urgency, Draco quickened his pace while supporting Ginny's weight, determined to block out the piercing screams echoing in his ears. Twice, he almost stumbled over unseen figures lying prone, obscured by the smoke. He maintained his focus straight ahead, resolved to press on. As they delved deeper into the gardens, the smoke gradually thinned.
Only when breathing became easier did Draco slow their pace. Judging it finally safe, he stopped and assisted Ginny to sit on the lush grass. She sank to the ground, quivering. Surveying his surroundings, now visible, Draco was confronted with a scene of utter chaos. The terrible sounds he had heard matched harrowing sights. People lay strewn on the ground, some trampled by those frantically seeking refuge. Others were twitching, either screaming or silently weeping. A sharp, guttural scream seized his attention. Close by, a man sat on the ground, wailing in agony.
"My leg, my leg..."
His trousers were in tatters, exposing a ghastly wound where part of his shin seemed gruesomely torn away. A woman knelt beside him, her tears flowing unchecked.
"Someone call for help!" implored a desperate voice.
Draco's gaze shifted to the building, and horror struck him. Part of the structure had collapsed, swallowed by towering flames. Thick, black smoke billowed ominously skyward. How could this have happened? Draco wondered, his mind reeling from the explosion's magnitude.
Suddenly, streaks of light sliced through the sky, targeting the billowing smoke. Draco realized wizards were battling the blaze. Relief washed over him as aid arrived. He recognized the distinctive purple and green robes of the Aurors and Mediwizards tending to the injured. Some victims were placed on stretchers, while others in dire need of immediate care received treatment right on the grass. Such devastation was beyond anything Draco had ever witnessed.
"Sir, you must evacuate immediately. A carriage is waiting," an urgent voice pierced his shock.
A Death Eater was addressing him, but Draco's attention was swiftly drawn to a conversation behind him.
"A woman was seen hurling something into the crowd," a quivering voice said. "She caused the explosion."
Draco whirled towards the speaker, an elderly witch in puffed-shoulder robes, encircled by a group of survivors. Their eyes were fixed on the smoldering building, and their faces etched with a mix of solemnity and bewilderment. Yet, they looked remarkably unscathed. The realization struck Draco forcefully – this was no accident. The explosion was deliberate. Could this be the reason Ginny had rushed to his aid? Had she caught sight of the perpetrator? What had tipped her off? His mind swirled with questions.
Draco refocused on Ginny, aware he had been momentarily sidetracked by the chaos around them. He was taken aback by her appearance: curled up, eyes transfixed on the furious blaze, and marked by deep terror. Tears clouded her vision; her breath came in ragged gasps, and her hands clenched so tightly her knuckles paled. Draco stood rooted, momentarily lost for words, overwhelmed by the intense fear radiating from her. Regaining his composure, he crouched beside her, gently shook her shoulder, and tried to snap her out of her panic.
"Ginevra?" he called.
He called her name again, but she appeared oblivious to him, her attention fixed on the flames. Her sobs were heart-rending.
Why this distress? Draco pondered, baffled by the intensity of her reaction.
"GINEVRA!" he called out more loudly, his voice edged with urgency.
Cupping her face in his hands, he urged her to meet his eyes. Ginny's gaze finally met his, her expression shifting to confusion, blinking rapidly as though awakening from a daze.
"Mr. Malfoy, we must leave at once," insisted the Death Eater, his voice tinged with unease. "This area is not secure, and…"
"Be quiet," Draco snapped, his attention riveted on Ginny. "Help me lift her."
Swiftly, the Death Eater assisted in lifting Ginny, carrying her as they quickly followed the Aurors' evacuation instructions. They emerged in front of the grand façade of the Chimera Palace, which stood unscathed, a stark contrast to the destruction behind it. People were still exiting the building, likely guests who had been inside during the explosion and had not witnessed the fireworks from the terrace. The Death Eater guided them to the waiting carriage.
"Ginny?" a voice called out.
A blonde woman in her thirties, visibly distraught, rushed towards them. Draco recognized her as someone he had seen with Ginny earlier.
"Thank Voldemort you're safe, Ginny. Are you injured?" she asked, her voice tinged with panic as she scrutinized the young woman with evident concern. "Please, come with us, we're attempting to…"
"No," Draco interjected firmly.
The woman, clearly taken aback, stared at him.
"Very well," she stammered, her eyes flickering between Draco and Ginny, alarmed.
"It's alright, Katrina, don't worry," Ginny said weakly, her hoarse voice breaking the silence she had maintained since the explosion. "Is everyone okay?"
Katrina nodded.
"They have already evacuated Mrs. Warrington," she informed her, her voice shaking – a clear sign of her distress. "Other cabinet members are fine. I was searching for you everywhere. I feared you were…"
She trailed off, seemingly unable to voice her fears.
"I do not understand what happened," she continued. "It's so awful."
"We must leave now," Draco interjected authoritatively, curtailing Katrina's lamentations.
The Death Eater assisted Ginny into the carriage, waited for Draco to follow before closing the door, and took his place at the front, guiding the Thestral. As the skeletal creature began its trot, then took to the air, Draco gazed out of the window at the retreating form of the Chimera Palace. Thick, black smoke continued to billow from its ravaged sections, gradually turning the once imposing structure into mere indistinct shapes.
As he leaned back, Draco was overwhelmed by a profound sense of unease, his thoughts mired in turmoil. He had an ominous feeling. He cast a glance at Ginny, leaning against the carriage window, looking every bit as disheveled as himself. Smeared with soot and debris, her dress ripped in places, she appeared completely exhausted but, miraculously, uninjured.
"Wear this," he instructed authoritatively.
Ginny draped the jacket over her shoulders, clutching it close. Her shivering seemed to subside. A dense silence enveloped them, punctuated only by the wind's howl against the carriage.
"What happened? Did you see anything?" Draco finally broke the silence.
Ginny appeared lost in thought for a moment before responding.
"I noticed that employee near the veranda. Something about her felt off. When she took out that object, I reacted instinctively," she replied, her voice trembling.
Draco remained silent, reflecting on how her instincts had probably saved his life from the flying debris.
"Who was that woman?" he asked.
"Anabel," Ginny responded flatly.
Draco's eyes widened in sudden alarm, "Did you know her?" he pressed.
"No, I only met her today. She was on the event staff. She also stumbled upon us earlier... in the garden," Ginny added, her tone hinting at embarrassment.
Draco momentarily set aside her comment about their garden encounter, focusing on the gravity of the current situation.
"What led you to suspect her intentions?" he persisted.
"It was just a feeling. Her behaviour was odd, and I overheard her muttering something strange earlier."
Ginny's expression suddenly turned to one of horror.
"Fight fire with fire… The Phoenix's flame will set us free…" she recited, panic evident in her voice. "I didn't understand then, but now…"
She covered her mouth, with tears streaming down her face.
"I should have told someone," she sobbed regretfully.
Draco, though, was fixated on her mention of 'The Phoenix'. He remembered overhearing conversations about Death Eater activities involving this mysterious individual. The Sacred Coven had been keeping these incidents under wraps. The realization struck him like a cold wave: this was a terrorist attack orchestrated by dissidents.
His mind reeled with the implications. As the organizer of the Governor's event, Ginny would undoubtedly be a key figure in the Aurors' investigation for information about this Anabel. It wasn't just probable—it was inevitable.
"Who hired her?" Draco inquired, uncertain if he was ready for the answer.
Ginny appeared puzzled by his question. "We didn't make that decision. A recruitment agency handles it, providing seasonal staff for Ministry events each year," she elaborated.
He remained silent, experiencing a flicker of relief. He had been concerned that this woman was a direct hire from Warrington's office. Being labelled as a Blood Traitor, Ginny would naturally attract suspicion. He was acutely aware of the brutal interrogation methods employed by Aurors and Death Eaters. Under such pressure, Ginny would inevitably crack and divulge her arrangement with Draco to gather intelligence on the Governor. Such a revelation would undoubtedly raise alarm bells among the authorities. The last thing he wanted was for any of this to be traced back to him. Being associated with an Unblooded, and thus with Dissidents, would be seen as an unforgivable act of treachery.
Draco cursed under his breath, rubbing his temple with two fingers, a habit he had when anxious. Closing his eyes, he tried to clear his thoughts. The importance of his next steps was crucial. Draco spun quickly and jerked open the rectangular window at the front of the carriage. He relayed instructions to the Death Eater and then snapped the window shut. Instantly, the carriage veered sharply, changing its course. Shortly after, the carriage landed with a distinct thud. Draco was the first to step out, followed closely by Ginny. They stood before an immense building, soaring nearly thirty stories - a style of construction rare in the nation's architectural landscape. Ginny cast a hesitant glance towards the towering building.
"Where are we?" she inquired, apprehension colouring her tone.
"Follow me," Draco replied tersely, making his way to the grand entrance.
The two guards at the door seemed momentarily taken aback by their disheveled appearance, but one quickly regained composure.
"Welcome, Mr. Malfoy," the guard said, swiftly opening the doors.
They entered an extravagant hall, dominated by a vast chandelier. Ahead, a row of lifts lined the luxurious foyer. Draco headed straight for the central lift, with Ginny and the Death Eater trailing behind. After a brief identity check by another pair of guards, they were permitted to use the lift. Draco tapped his wand and selected the thirtieth floor. This was a private lift, servicing only this floor, while the other residents used the other lifts.
Eventually, the lift's doors opened on the thirtieth floor, revealing more guards and a brightly lit corridor. Following another security check, they were admitted into the floor's sole apartment, with the Death Eater remaining outside. The interior unveiled a lavishly furnished penthouse. Draco led Ginny down a long hallway to the main living area, where a large and imposing man observed them closely. Draco gestured towards a pristine white Italian leather armchair.
"Sit down," he instructed Ginny, who complied, her gaze darting uncertainly around the room.
"Draco?" resonated a melodic voice.
He turned to see Pansy Parkinson descending the stairs, her expression one of concern.
"To what do I owe the pleasure of this late-night visit?" she asked sarcastically.
Clad in a pink silk robe, with mead in hand, Pansy's eyes narrowed at the sight of Draco's unkempt appearance.
"For the love of Voldemort, Draco, what on earth happened to you?" she exclaimed.
"There's been an explosion at the Hellebore Ball," Draco stated gravely.
Pansy gasped, her hand covering her mouth in shock.
"Surely you're joking," she murmured.
"Do you really think I would travel all this way in the middle of the night for a joke?" Draco retorted, his irritation evident.
Pansy had the decency to appear embarrassed. Her dark eyes then shifted to Ginny, finally noticing her presence. She frowned.
"Could you perhaps explain why there is a complete stranger in my living room?" she asked, her brow furrowing.
"Can we talk in the kitchen?" Draco suggested, not waiting for her response and heading towards an adjoining room.
In the kitchen, outfitted with elaborate appliances Pansy never used, an elderly house-elf appeared.
"May I fetch you some tea, Master Malfoy?" the elf inquired respectfully.
"No, I won't be staying long," Draco responded, gesturing towards the door.
The house-elf promptly departed, closing the door behind him.
"Draco, you're worrying me. What in the name of Voldemort is happening?" Pansy demanded, her face a mix of annoyance and concern as she crossed her arms and pursed her lips.
"There was a massive explosion," Draco reiterated, his voice laden with fatigue.
"Was it an accident?" she asked.
"No, it appeared intentional. There were many injured, possibly some fatalities as well," he admitted, pausing briefly.
Pansy's eyes widened in shock, horror etched on her face.
"By the will of Voldemort... I was meant to attend," she whispered, clearly shaken.
Pansy had initially intended to attend the event with Draco but cancelled last minute following an insulting remark by Cressida Warrington about her Witch Weekly column. She regarded him with a worried look.
"Are you alright?" she asked.
Draco nodded briefly. Although physically unscathed, the gravity of the situation weighed heavily on him, especially given Ginny's crucial intervention.
"I'm in a difficult spot, Pansy," he admitted, rubbing his neck anxiously.
Pansy's expression grew more concerned, sensing his unease.
"Explain everything to me," she urged, taking a seat on a kitchen stool, her attention focused entirely on him.
Draco quickly outlined his arrangement with Ginny for intelligence gathering on the Governor. As he recounted the events, Pansy's face grew progressively more somber.
"I can't be certain who orchestrated this attack, but those in charge of organisation and security will undoubtedly face scrutiny," he concluded, dragging his hand through his hair in a gesture of despair.
"You think they might interrogate her… Given her blood status, she might be seen as a potential accomplice, or at least a person of interest," Pansy reasoned, echoing Draco's concerns.
"That's my concern," he admitted. "I need your assistance, Pansy. She needs to stay here with you while I figure this out."
Pansy's mouth fell open in disbelief.
"Excuse me?" Pansy blurted out, incredulity in her voice. "Oh, no, no, no, you are not dragging me into your shady dealings. How can you be sure she isn't involved? Do you grasp the implications if word gets out that I'm sheltering a dissident?"
She had spoken the word in a hushed but decidedly hysterical tone.
"She's not a dissident, Pansy. If she were, she wouldn't have saved me," Draco countered. "It's not safe to leave her out there at the moment. I can't risk her speaking to anyone before I have a solid plan. Please, I need your help. Just for a couple of days," he pleaded.
Draco was not one to beg—Pansy knew that all too well. It was a direct blow to his ego. She appeared to soften at his desperation.
"Two days," she conceded, her expression still showing displeasure.
Draco sighed in relief.
"Thank you," he expressed gratefully.
"Your thanks are unnecessary," she retorted, her tone haughty. "You'll owe me a massive favour. Start planning to buy me that coastal house."
Typically, Draco would have responded with a wry remark, but on this occasion, he managed only a strained laugh.
After giving Pansy further instructions regarding Ginny's enforced stay, Draco returned to the living room. Seated at the edge of the sofa, the young woman appeared lost in thought, casting uneasy glances towards Galileo, Pansy's bodyguard. Draco crouched in front of her, gently touching her knee to capture her attention. She momentarily flinched before meeting his gaze, her expression still etched with distress.
"Ginevra," he began, his tone calm and steady, "you played no part in hiring that woman, did you?"
Ginny nodded weakly.
"A Ministry-approved partner was responsible for the staff recruitment," she confirmed in a soft voice.
"So, the responsibility wouldn't directly implicate Warrington's team," Draco surmised thoughtfully.
"Do you think they'll think I had a hand in this?" Ginny blurted out, panic colouring her voice as realization dawned on her.
"I don't know," he replied neutrally. "I need to figure out what happened. In the meantime, you'll stay here with Pansy. I'll be back for you in a few days."
Ginny's protest was almost immediate.
"What? I can't stay here. My family will worry if I don't return."
"Send them an owl with a cover story. I can't risk having you out in public," he insisted.
To his surprise, Ginny acquiesced more readily than he had anticipated. Typically, she was invariably oppositional. Her evident exhaustion overpowered any inclination to argue, the night's events clearly having taken their toll. The night had been turbulent and traumatic, and neither had the energy to fight. She shot a cautious look towards Pansy, standing impassively by the stairs.
"Who is she?" Ginny asked quietly.
"Pansy Parkinson, my best friend," Draco responded in a matter-of-fact manner.
"She doesn't look too happy about me being here," Ginny noted quietly. "Can't I just return home and keep a low profile?"
"No," Draco stated firmly. "You must stay here with Pansy until I return. Follow her instructions, and all will be well. Hand over your wand."
After a brief hesitation, Ginny relinquished her wand. Draco observed Pansy's silent nod of approval. He recognized the importance of ensuring Ginny posed no threat, considering Pansy's unfamiliarity with her.
He squeezed Ginny's knee reassuringly before standing up. She began to remove the jacket he had given her earlier, but he stopped her.
"Keep it. I'll be back soon, Ginevra," he stated with resolve, then left.
/
After Draco left, Ginny retreated into her thoughts, covering her face with her hands and letting out a deep sigh. The evening had spiraled into a nightmare beyond her wildest imaginings.
The screams, the harrowing scenes of agony, the terror-stricken faces – they all roiled in her stomach.
This was not the first time she had witnessed death. The regime's cruelty had subjected her to witnessing countless brutal demises. Frequent and violent, the executions involved condemned individuals being paraded publicly, subjected to humiliation and brutality before their final moments. Somehow, she had nearly become desensitized to these horrors, so ingrained were they in her daily existence.
Yet, the burning building and the relentless, all-consuming black smoke reawakened memories she had deeply buried. For a moment, she relived the most traumatic day of her life: the day her family home burned, and she was separated from her family.
Paralyzed in front of the Chimera Palace, Ginny felt completely overwhelmed by a sense of utter powerlessness. Draco's sudden intervention jolted her from her panic, filling her mind with the moments leading up to the explosion. Everything unfolded rapidly. She had caught the expression in Anabel's eyes – one of anger and despair, the look of someone with nothing left to lose.
Ginny couldn't explain her instinct to run the moment Anabel produced that bizarre object, raising it to her mouth as if to detach something. All she remembered was Draco suddenly appearing in her line of sight, prompting her to rush towards him, almost throwing herself at him. The ensuing sound, unforgettable and earth-shaking, was a blast of immense magnitude.
Her reflections were interrupted by an abrupt throat-clearing. Ginny's eyes lifted to meet the critical, disapproving gaze of a young brunette woman sizing her up. No Divination skills were necessary to discern Pansy's obvious irritation at her presence. Ginny regretted not insisting on returning home, yet the shock of the explosion had left her too shaken to defy Draco's orders.
In the aftermath of the explosion, Draco had taken charge, giving her little choice. Though normally such manoeuvres would greatly annoy her, she couldn't deny feeling a sense of relief. Otherwise, she would have found herself at a loss for action.
Brief thoughts of escape crossed her mind, but they were quickly dispelled by the sight of Pansy's formidable bodyguard. She had never before encountered someone so intimidatingly imposing. He resembled the giants often depicted in children's literature. Trapped without her wand in unfamiliar surroundings, she felt completely powerless.
For the time being, Ginny had to comply with Draco's instructions, which ultimately aligned with her own best interests. The very thought of being associated with the attack filled her with terror. Considering her rank and family history, proving her innocence would be an uphill battle. This incident had echoed throughout the upper echelons of the regime. For those found guilty, the consequences would be damning. Ginny turned to face Pansy.
"Thank you," she stammered somewhat foolishly, finding nothing better to say.
Pansy stayed silent, maintaining her critical assessment.
"Such a waste," Pansy eventually remarked, her nose wrinkling in disdain.
Ginny, puzzled, followed her gaze.
"Your dress," Pansy elaborated, gesturing dramatically. "A Patricia de la Fontaine creation, correct? Recognizable style. Utterly ruined – truly a pity."
Taken aback by Pansy's remark, Ginny's mouth opened, but words escaped her.
"Go change," Pansy instructed, as though it were the most natural directive. "Waterford will show you to the bathroom."
"I... I don't have a change of clothes with me," Ginny admitted.
Pansy rolled her eyes in exasperation, sighing as if Ginny's admission were deeply bothersome. Without a word, she headed towards the white staircase through which she had burst upon their arrival. As she was about to ascend the first step, Pansy turned to Ginny.
"Well, come on then," she said with impatience. "I haven't got all night."
Ginny quickly rose and followed Pansy up the staircase, almost stumbling in her haste. The long corridor they traversed, lined with portraits of Pansy, opened into a vast room, resembling more a high-end boutique than a wardrobe. Mannequins, showcasing various outfits and subtly altering their poses, were surrounded by hundreds of meticulously arranged garments, each behind glass. Ginny wondered how so much space could be dedicated to clothing.
"Touch nothing," Pansy warned, delving into a drawer labelled 'Gifts'. "There should be something suitable here."
She scrutinised Ginny, causing her to feel self-conscious.
"Finding something to fit you might be a challenge," Pansy mused, her frown deepening as she continued her search.
After a while, Pansy presented Ginny with a stack of clothes, tags intact, followed by a package of extravagant pink lingerie.
"Waterford, attend!" Pansy summoned.
In an instant, an elderly house-elf with drooping ears appeared, bowing deeply.
"What assistance does Mistress Parkinson require?" inquired Waterford, his tone solemn.
"Escort her to a guest room for a bath; she looks like she's been through a battle," Pansy observed, eyeing Ginny's worn attire with disdain.
Waterford nodded vigorously. Pansy then faced Ginny, her arms crossed.
"Not that I bother with Draco's tarts, but remind me of your name?" Pansy asked with a sneer.
Ginny bristled at the implication.
"I am not his tart!" she protested, her cheeks reddening. "And my name is Ginny. Ginny Weasley."
"Sure, and I'm about to become the Minister for Magic," Pansy retorted, sarcasm heavy in her tone.
Ginny held back a retort, her jaw clenched in restraint. What had Draco told Pansy about her before he left?
"In that case, Ginny, there are a few rules you should be aware of if we're to cohabit—or rather, if you're to invade my personal space," Pansy corrected. "Firstly, don't expect me to play nanny. Stay out of my way and don't disturb my peace."
Ginny gave a terse nod. As if she had any desire to engage with Pansy more than necessary. The woman had only known her for all of ten minutes and had already thrown two insults her way.
"Secondly, my things are off-limits. Don't touch anything without asking first," Pansy continued.
"Understood," Ginny replied.
"Thirdly, I couldn't care less if you're one of Draco's strumpets—whether you admit it or not," she added as she saw Ginny about to protest. "I don't know you, which means I don't trust you. So, don't try anything foolish, or you'll have Galileo to answer to."
With a mischievous smile, she gestured towards the door. Ginny glanced at the door where the imposing figure of Galileo loomed, reinforcing Pansy's warning. She swallowed nervously.
"Lastly," Pansy concluded, her tone lightening, "this house is a sugar-free zone. Night then!"
With that, Pansy confidently strode out of the room, leaving Ginny to come to terms with the new living arrangements. Pansy was every bit as unwelcoming and intimidating as she had expected, a fitting companion for Draco Malfoy.
"This way, Miss," said the house-elf, his polite tone pulling Ginny from her thoughts.
He led her to a luxurious bedroom, three times the size of her shared flat's living room, complete with an ensuite bathroom. Finally alone, Ginny ventured into the bathroom, confronting her reflection for the first time since the ordeal. She now looked dreadful. Her styled curls had succumbed to limpness, and her tear-stained face was marred by streaks of makeup. Soot and dust marred her skin, and she noticed minor scrapes on her arms, likely remnants of her fall. Her dress was beyond salvage. Thankfully, these were the extent of her physical injuries.
The bathroom boasted both a shower and a polished marble bathtub, each appearing as though they had never been used. Upon entering the shower, Ginny was surprised by the forceful water pressure, a luxury far removed from the unreliable plumbing in her own flat. As the hot water cascaded over her, easing her tense muscles, she began to wash away the debris of the previous night. A brief surge of panic overtook her when she noticed a streak of red swirling towards the drain.
Blood.
It wasn't hers, she realized in horror, closing her eyes in an attempt to block out the haunting memory.
After her shower, clad in the soft muslin pyjamas provided by Pansy, Ginny stepped onto the room's balcony. The chill from the tiles bit at her feet, yet she was captivated by the unfamiliar cityscape spread out beneath her. The penthouse offered a commanding view, yet the area was unrecognizable to her.
Her sleep was restless, haunted by nightmares of screams, fire, and pleading figures. They repeatedly brought her back to that woman – no, not a woman, a monster, for only a monster could perpetrate such inhumanity. A monster who displayed nothing but outright contempt for the lives of others.
Waking in a haze of disorientation, Ginny took a moment to place her surroundings. Gradually, the strangeness of the room – its distinct textures and unfamiliar scents – yielded to the flood of memories from the day before.
With reluctance marking her morning and another brisk shower, Ginny cautiously stepped out of the room, wary of another encounter with Pansy Parkinson. Now drenched in sunlight, the living room revealed an even greater level of opulence than she had first perceived.
"Would Miss Weasley like some breakfast?" inquired Waterford, appearing suddenly before her.
Ginny's stomach rumbled in response, eliciting a sheepish smile from her. Waterford then led her to a vast kitchen. The sight of the lavish breakfast arrayed on the central counter – fresh fruits, an assortment of pastries (presumably sugar-free), jugs of juice, eggs, bacon, toast, and various condiments – left her wide-eyed.
"Enjoy your breakfast, Miss," Waterford said, gesturing towards the feast.
Ginny wasted no time in helping herself to the lavish breakfast spread, loading her plate generously. Halfway through her third slice of toast, the distinct sound of heels clicking signalled Pansy Parkinson's arrival. Pansy, clad in a billowing-sleeved, textured dress and high heels, radiated a commanding presence.
Waterford promptly attended his Mistress, serving pumpkin juice and skillfully topping it with mead, which caught Ginny off guard. Pansy casually picked a grape and popped it into her mouth, surveying the buffet with a critical gaze, seeming somewhat unimpressed. Only then did she acknowledge Ginny, who braced herself for another barrage of sharp remarks. Instead, Pansy greeted her with unexpected cheerfulness.
"Had a good night's rest?" she inquired cheerfully.
Ginny, taken aback, managed a nod despite her restless night. Pansy took a satisfied sip of her drink.
"It's a perfect day for a bit of retail therapy," she mused, peering out the window. "Wouldn't you say so, Waterford?"
Waterford, ever the obliging servant, concurred. "As every day is, Miss Parkinson," the elf replied politely.
Pansy turned to Ginny.
"Fancy coming along?"
"I... I don't think that's a good idea," Ginny stammered, surprised by Pansy's sudden change in demeanour. "Draco told me to stay here."
"Oh, Draco and his rules," Pansy sighed, feigning disappointment. "He can be such a spoilsport. Even my parents never denied me this much."
She paused for a moment.
"Come to think of it, they hardly ever refused me anything," she corrected herself, shrugging. "Never mind, I've got a better idea,"
To Ginny's astonishment, Pansy's 'better idea' involved bringing the shopping experience to her. Within an hour, her living room was transformed into a private boutique, complete with representatives from Nosf & Ratus, Pansy's favourite brand.
"You truly understand the way to my heart, Benny," Pansy exclaimed, addressing a man with long dreadlocks, clearly delighted with the setup.
Ginny stayed in the background, quietly observing the unfolding scene, her mind reeling. How could they remain so detached following yesterday's horrific events? The absence of conversation about the recent calamity, the lack of any visible shock – it was baffling. How could they carry on as though nothing had happened? Ginny couldn't help but feel they were disconnected from reality, particularly given the high-profile victims of the attack.
"Quit moping and grab yourself a drink, will you?" Pansy snapped abruptly. "You're making me tense."
Ginny downed her drink in a single swift gulp, more from frustration than actual desire. She found solace in a mental escape, choosing to immerse herself in the moment rather than face the grim reality of the attack. Although she was the only one visibly disturbed by the events, the temporary distraction of drinking provided a welcome, if unhealthy, reprieve from her troubling thoughts. After quickly consuming a couple of glasses, her anxiety lessened somewhat. Pansy even persuaded her to try on some outfits, and Ginny complied with reluctance. She nearly choked when she saw the price tag on a dress she had just tried on.
"Have you seen this?" she whispered to Pansy, in disbelief.
Pansy glanced at her briefly, a puzzled expression crossing her face.
"The price on this," Ginny emphasised.
Pansy cast her a look of bemused disbelief. She then gave a slight shrug, an air of nonchalance in her gesture, as she casually added the dress to her selection.
"Look at price tags? Who does that?" Pansy remarked dismissively, continuing to look through the clothes.
Ginny watched in stunned silence as Pansy undressed completely in front of the brand representatives, regardless of their gender, exhibiting no signs of embarrassment. She seemed completely at ease as the attendants helped her try on different outfits. Ginny couldn't help but be amazed at Pansy's total lack of inhibition and how everyone catered to her every whim. The degree of deference shown to this woman surpassed anything Ginny had ever seen, even around Draco Malfoy. Pansy seemed to revel in the adoration.
Once the extensive shopping affair concluded and the brand's representatives departed, Ginny let out a sigh of relief.
"A productive afternoon indeed," Pansy remarked, clearly pleased. "Fancy a cocktail on the terrace?"
Reluctantly, Ginny followed her, internally questioning how she would manage another day with Pansy. Since departing from the Chimera Palace, Ginny's mind had been overwhelmed with pressing concerns. What was happening outside? Had they caught the perpetrator? How had the Government responded? Had the news spread across the nation? Thinking of her loved ones filled her with gnawing anxiety.
Earlier, Ginny had dispatched a brief message to Hermione via one of Pansy's owls. In her letter, she vaguely referred to staying at her colleague Katrina's place, being careful not to reveal too much and cause undue worry. Ginny wasn't certain if Hermione was aware of the previous night's events but hoped her message would offer some reassurance.
"Any news about what happened? Has it made the headlines yet?" Ginny inquired eagerly.
"No," came Pansy's terse reply, offering no further details.
Ginny caught a brief flash of alarm in Pansy's eyes, a slight crack in her usual façade of indifference.
"Well, not as of yet," Pansy amended.
She finished her drink in one swift motion and placed the empty glass on the table beside her.
"Those who need to be concerned about these matters are already dealing with it," Pansy interjected, clearly eager to end the conversation.
Ginny felt uneasy as she began to understand. Pansy's cheerful and nonchalant attitude regarding yesterday's events was intentional. She was doing absolutely everything possible to avoid the topic, using frivolous excuses to distract Ginny from the grim reality of the attack. The extravagant and inappropriate shopping spree now seemed to Ginny a deliberate diversion, possibly orchestrated on Draco Malfoy's orders.
"Did Draco ask you to set all this up?" Ginny asked, already suspecting the answer.
Pansy's irritated sigh marked a departure from her previously lighthearted demeanour. Her expression turned serious and somber. Following a long silence, Pansy's voice broke the stillness.
"What was it like... after the explosion?"
"Horrible," Ginny replied, her voice trembling. "Absolutely awful."
Ginny started to recount the traumatic events of the night to Pansy, feeling the pressing urge to share. The memories were overwhelming, and the guilt of being safe while others suffered haunted her. She carefully omitted certain details, such as her private conversation with Anabel. Pansy wrapped her arms around herself.
"I was supposed to be there... with Draco," she said, clearly shaken.
Collecting herself, Pansy's gaze drifted to the terrace view, musing, "Draco knows what he's doing. We should trust him."
Ginny nodded, albeit reluctantly. Despite her reservations about relying so heavily on Draco Malfoy, she recognized that trusting him might be her only viable option in the current situation.
/
"Bloody hell," came a raspy voice.
Dean glanced up, his gaze landing on Tonks, whose face was etched with concern. Her medium-length hair, usually vibrant and styled in wildly eccentric fashions, was now pulled back into a disheveled black bun—a surprisingly subdued choice for her. It was clear from her appearance that today's challenges had left Tonks looking visibly frustrated and exhausted.
"We're in bloody deep water," she muttered, rubbing her temples as if to fend off a blinding headache.
Tonks had just come back from an urgent meeting with the other leaders of the Defiant Ghouls. She sank into an armchair beside him, appearing defeated.
Since dawn, murmurs of a catastrophic explosion at a London social gathering had been echoing through the base.
"It's been confirmed. The explosion was real, with fatalities and many injured," Tonks said gravely. "It was a massacre."
Dean felt his heart sink.
"It was at some kind of gala, crowded with the regime's top figures."
Tonks pulled out a makeshift cigarette, lighting it with her wand—a habit she had given up months ago. Dean recognized the seriousness of the situation upon seeing her so stressed.
"It was one of our own," she admitted. "Someone inside the Auror Office confirmed it."
Drawing deeply on her cigarette, her hands trembled faintly.
"It was Hannah," she added, casting a hesitant glance at Dean.
Dean's world seemed to whirl around him.
"No... That can't be true..."
"I'm just as stunned, Dean," Tonks confessed.
"What happened?" Dean asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.
"They're saying it was a suicide attack," Tonks answered, her eyes filled with regret.
Dean was lost for words, his mind spinning. Hannah, gone in a suicide attack. The magnitude of it was overwhelming. In total shock, he gazed blankly at Tonks, with misty eyes and a dry throat.
"Months, maybe even years of work... all potentially ruined by this," she said, disheartened. "We've been keeping a low profile, building alliances, and uniting the factions."
Their recent efforts had been significant, fostering unprecedented cooperation among various resistance groups against the regime. For the first time, they were strategically organizing, posing an unseen threat to the Sacred Thirteen, and remaining undetected.
"Now, all our efforts might be for nothing. This changes everything," Tonks lamented. "We'll be back under the regime's watchful eye."
The government would undoubtedly intensify its crackdown on the Resistance. The insiders, discreetly placed in various societal roles, now faced the greatest risk. Surveillance and scrutiny were set to escalate, along with increased oppression of lower-ranking wizards.
"Apparently, the Phoenix is furious. No surprise there," Tonks added, massaging her temple agitatedly. "They're planning to send people here to investigate. We're in deep trouble."
She exhaled another puff of smoke, her nerves frayed.
"We need to convince them it was an isolated incident, unconnected to the rest of us," she said, her voice tinged with worry. "We never should have sent her back that soon. If I'd had the slightest doubt, I would have never let her go."
Dean stayed silent, clenching his hands into fists. Tonks didn't know the full story. He was aware of the true reason behind Hannah's actions. He leapt to his feet and, under Tonks' frightened gaze, crossed the room, his body trembling with rage, eyes ablaze with fury. Dean spotted the person he was looking for in the centre of the canteen, seated with two other individuals who were laughing loudly at one of his comments. Overcome with anger, Dean lunged at Terrence Higgs, seizing him by the collar and pushing him to the ground.
"DEAN!" Tonks' voice echoed sharply behind him.
Ignoring her, Dean landed a forceful punch on Higgs' nose, the sharp sound of impact followed by a rush of blood. Someone pulled him back, restraining him from further attacks. Higgs, enraged, attempted to retaliate but was restrained.
Tonks faced Dean, incredulous and angry. "What on earth are you doing? Have you lost your bloody mind?"
"It's this wanker's fault! He's the reason Hannah did it!" Dean roared, pointing accusingly at Higgs.
"What are you talking about?" Tonks demanded, clearly shocked.
"He manipulated Hannah into causing that explosion!" Dean shouted, tears of fury welling in his eyes.
A stunned silence descended over the room, all eyes fixed on the unfolding scene.
"These are serious accusations, Thomas," Moody's gruff voice pierced the tension.
"I'm telling the truth!" Dean yelled, desperate for them to believe him. "Tell them, you bastard! Tell them what you did!"
Attention turned to Higgs, who, despite his bloody nose, appeared eerily composed, a dark glint in his eyes.
"I haven't the foggiest idea what you're on about, you tosser," Higgs retorted coolly.
"Did Hannah say anything to you about her plans, Dean? Did you know anything? Was Higgs involved?" Tonks pressed.
Tonks' voice had a pleading tone, as though she was imploring Dean to offer answers to justify his actions. Dean stopped struggling, his anger dissipating into a sense of defeat.
"No, but I just know he's behind it," he insisted, glaring at Higgs. "He's been warping her mind for weeks on end. I'm certain of it."
"Have you got any proof?" Moody demanded sharply.
Dean shook his head, his frustration clear.
"Then keep your mouth shut. You can't go around attacking people like this," Moody reprimanded sternly.
Dean broke free from the grip restraining him and dashed out of the canteen, seething with rage. He was in disbelief at their unwillingness to believe him.
Seeking refuge in the deserted infirmary, Dean slumped into a chair, his face buried in his hands, his body trembling with a mix of frustration and grief. Silent tears fell to the floor as he was overcome by sobs.
Hannah was gone. Dead. And worst of all, in taking her own life, she had also claimed the lives of countless innocents in the process. Dean struggled to understand why he had grown so attached to her so quickly. Perhaps it stemmed from a sense of duty, him having vouched for her upon her arrival. In their tough underground lifestyle, forming new bonds wasn't easy. Dean had immediately discerned Hannah's despair, her ambition, her eagerness to make a difference. He also knew how psychologically vulnerable she was. A sociopath like Higgs would have had no trouble worming his way into her head and manipulating her into committing such a heinous act. Had she been aware of the tragic path Higgs was leading her down?
Hours passed as Dean remained in the room, eventually succumbing to exhaustion and falling into a deep sleep. He was abruptly awakened by a splash of cold water to his face. Startled, he sat bolt upright. Before him stood Terrence Higgs, Ritchie Coote, and another man, whose name eluded him, always found in their company. Coote and the other man forcefully held Dean down. Higgs, with a bandage covering part of his nose and a swollen cheek, loomed over him with a menacing glare. He seemed more threatening than ever. Driven by his anger, Dean remained unfazed by their intimidation.
"I wasn't exactly thrilled about your little ambush earlier," Higgs said, as he pulled an object from his pocket.
Dean's eyes widened in alarm at the sight of a knuckleduster, its spikes glinting ominously. Higgs erupted into mocking laughter at Dean's evident panic.
"A bit gutted that no one swallowed your little story about my involvement, aren't you?" Higgs taunted. "Shame, really. Especially since you hit the nail on the head."
A self-satisfied smirk played on his lips.
"They're in denial, you see. Admitting they screwed up would mean trouble for the base. It'd suggest a calculated, organized act. Proof the leaders here can't keep things under control. After all, they allowed that foolish girl go back to the regime. Their precious Phoenix won't be too please to find out," he said sarcastically.
He spat on the floor.
"These muppets are too busy playing bloody politics when we should be gearing up for war," he continued, his voice dripping with contempt. "Their incompetence is glaringly obvious."
Dean gritted his teeth, struggling against the grip of Higgs' cronies.
"Ease up, mate. Why the fuss?" Higgs jeered, his laughter laced with spite. "Oh, I get it. You were her little lapdog. Always mooning over the bitch, thinking you'd get a scrap of attention for playing Mr. Nice Guy. Pathetic, really."
He slid his hand into the knuckleduster, a twisted sense of pleasure in his eyes.
"Here's a thing or two about women for you, tosser. They're drawn to bad boys. They're just itching to submit to them, practically queuing up to be bossed around. There's something deep inside that just ignites — it's subtle, but unmistakably there," Higgs sneered, a scornful snicker accompanying his words.
He raised the knuckleduster, which seemed to gleam under the dim room lighting.
"I have to say, I never expected her to take it that far. But you have to admire her flair for the dramatic," Higgs mused. "Tough act to follow, that."
Turning to face Dean, his smile twisted cruelly. "How does it feel, knowing the bitch had more balls than you ever will, you daft prat? Her sacrifice will be worth far more than you ever could," he taunted, his words heavy with implied threat.
He approached Dean, lifting his face to meet his, a sneer on his lips.
"Anyway, with her now six feet under, it comes down to one simple fact. You are now my new bitch," Higgs declared, with scorn, before brutally swinging his spiked fist at Dean's face.